


A Prince's Price

by Clashing_Harmony



Category: The King (2019)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clashing_Harmony/pseuds/Clashing_Harmony
Summary: Feeling betrayed, Falstaff refuses to help Henry with the war.Outnumbered on the battlefield, Henry agrees to marry the Dauphin, exchanging his own freedom for the lives of his men. Bound to a cruel husband and surrounded by scheming courtiers, Henry needs John more than ever before. And as fate would have it, John is now the only thing he cannot have.Features mpreg and domestic violence.
Relationships: Sir John Falstaff/Henry V of England, The Dauphin/Henry V of England
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	A Prince's Price

**Author's Note:**

> I watched this movie and wrote this fanfic at the request of a friend. She wanted an angsty mpreg story, so an angsty mpreg story is what I provided. That said, I've never lived in England and have no idea about any of the intricacies of medieval royal customs or politics. And I didn't do much research beyond a basic Wikipedia search. So if there are historical inconsistencies or factual errors, please do forgive and forget. _/|\\_

“John, please…” Henry’s voice shook with what might have been suppressed desperation. “I _need_ you. I need someone I can trust in this nest of vipers.”

The ex-soldier threw his head back and laughed – a deep rumble that rose from the bottom of his belly. “Trust, eh? Is that what they’re calling it these days? Back when I was young, we called it plain old bed-pressin’. Course, we weren’t fancy royal folk,” he sneered. “So what do we know?”

Henry frowned. John thought he saw him flinch as if stung, his eyes widening slightly. But he blinked and it was gone. John shook his head at his own naiveté. He’d probably imagined it. God knew, he’d imagined enough when it came to the young prince. King. He turned away to hide his own grimace.

“Go away, Hal,” he said, emphasizing the nickname with all the contempt he could muster. “I’m not getting blood on my hands to fulfill your fantasies of conquest and vainglory. I didn’t do it for the last tyrant, I won’t do it for this one.”

He heard Hal suck in a breath behind him. Good. Someone needed to hold up a mirror to him, speak truth to power. And who better to do it than him, a kinless drunk who had nothing left to lose? “My sword belongs to this land, not to her bloodthirsty masters.”

A few seconds passed in silence, broken only by the sounds of the two men’s harsh breathing. Then, cool fingers touched John’s upper arm, causing him to stiffen.

“John, please…” Henry whispered, inching closer. His soft lips brushed lightly against John’s broad, muscular shoulders. “Just…just look at me, will you?”

Slowly, he turned around. Henry’s eyes were bright. John forced himself not to look away. “I will _not_ be a weapon to fight your wars, Hal,” he bit out through gritted teeth. “And I will not be coerced into selling my soul for the pleasure of an egotistical _boy_ who cares more for ephemeral glory than the lives of his own men.”

Henry looked stricken, like someone had punched him in the gut. John felt one corner of his lips quirk upwards. He still held some little sway over the boy’s heart, then. Not that it was going to matter. It wasn’t enough to save England. And it wasn’t enough to save their…friendship. Yes. That’s all that had ever existed between them, and Hal had spared no effort to kill it, once he gained the throne.

Why was he surprised? John wasn’t born yesterday. Power corrupts – this wasn’t news to him. Not after everything he’d seen, everything he’d _done_. Why had he ever believed that it would be different with Hal? That this drunken mess of a boy would prove to be different, to be the king this country needed? Why had he had hope?

Lost in his thoughts, John failed to notice Hal’s approach until soft red lips were pressing up against his, just as they had numerous times inside their ramshackle lodgings in Cheapside over the years. John’s hands flew up of their own volition to clutch at Hal’s arms, his nails digging into the tender skin through the thin fabric of his tunic. He’d probably leave bruises, he thought distantly.

Bruises on the person of the ruling monarch, King Henry the Fifth of Lancaster.

He chuckled, pushing the younger man away.

For a moment, Hal just stood there looking at him, his eyes wide and bewildered. He looked almost boyish, as he had when John had first found him, curled up outside a welder’s shop on the outskirts of Cheapside, shivering in the rain…

Then, his expression shuttered and Hal was gone, replaced as if by some sorcery by King Henry of Lancaster. “Goodbye, Sir Falstaff,” he murmured softly, looking away. “And may God be with you.”

And in a flurry of fabric, Henry was gone, taking Hal with him.

John closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. He had made the right choice, his mind knew it. Now, if only he could make his treacherous heart believe it.

The Dauphin threw his head back, laughing. He rose from his seat and gestured for Henry to follow him into a nearby tent, shoulders still shaking with muted laughter.

Henry followed, one hand resting lightly on his sword, ignoring the curious murmurs of the gathered men. The crown prince of France made his skin crawl, and nothing would have pleased him more than to watch him bleed out at his feet on the battlefield.

But the Dauphin wouldn’t be the only one bleeding out on that field, if it came to that. And Henry had to at least _try_ to prevent that; to prevent filling the streets of London with the cries of widows and orphans. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t even try.

“Are you scared, young ‘Enry?” the Dauphin asked, his tone gentle, once the tent flap had closed behind them, casting both men in shadows. “Are you scared of what fate has in store for you tomorrow?”

Henry pressed his lips together, forcing himself to let go of the sheathed sword at his hip. “Too much Christian blood will be spilled if we march into Agincourt tomorrow. Good men will be lost on both sides. Let us finish this, you and I. Once and for all. I meant what I said out there. If you win, you can have my head. If _I_ win, I’ll take your father’s throne upon his death and nothing more. You will live as a member of the royal court for the remainder of your life. As, of course, will your sister and any other kin of your father’s still living.”

“Young ‘Enry. So selfless. So brave. So…” the Dauphin chuckled, turning around to face him. “So foolish.”

Henry frowned, but said nothing. If the Dauphin wanted to sate his ego by insulting him in this secluded tent, it was a small price to pay for the lives of a hundred English soldiers. But was that all he wanted, Henry wondered, his eyes following the Dauphin as the other man circled him at a leisurely pace. A strange hunger danced in his eyes as he looked Henry up and down, lips quirked in a sneer.

“But you misunderstand me, my dear ‘Enry,” the Dauphin murmured, his lips suddenly inches from Henry’s ear. “You take me for the monster I am not. Always so quick to judge, you English.” He shook his head, giggling boyishly. “Always so…disparaging. No? Now tell me, why would I want your pretty little head on a pike, when I could ‘ave it on a pillow…in my bedchamber?”

Henry stiffened, his eyes darting to the Dauphin’s face, to see if he was joking.

The French prince was looking at him in a way that forced Henry to suppress a shudder. “What are you implying?” he demanded, forcing his voice to be steady.

“No, no ‘Enry. It is not as you think.” The Dauphin laughed. “I would not take advantage of your virtue. Regardless of what you might think of us French,” he smiled. “I’m a prince, not a whoremonger. I’m not in need of a bedwarmer. Of those, I ‘ave many. Although, I’ll admit,” he grabbed Henry’s chin and jerked his face roughly upwards. “None as pretty as this.”

Henry stepped back, his hand going automatically to the hilt of his sword, even as his eyes remained fixed on the Dauphin, following his every move.

Something in his eyes made the other man laugh, pressing a hand to his stomach and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Oh, ‘Enry, how your eyes remind me of a lamb being led to the slaughter. A little, bitty lamb–” 

“What is it you _want_?” Henry snapped, cutting his companion off. The air in this tent was suffocating him. He needed to get out.

“A consort,” the Dauphin said, all humor gone from his flinty eyes. “A consort, to warm my bed and bear my child. And, most importantly, to please my father and convince him that I’m worthy of the throne, which won’t happen until I have for him a legitimate heir. A child born of my loins…that wasn’t borne by a whore or a kitchen maid.”

“That’s not–”

“Think about it, young ‘Enry. And think _very_ carefully. A child born of our union would have legitimate dominion over both England and France. He would not be a foreign conqueror to either country. By agreeing to this marriage, it is not just this battle of Agincourt that you will be averting. You’ll be averting bloodshed on both sides for generations to come. We will be one, France and England. No more Christian blood shall stain the English Channel for centuries to come. And all I ask of you in return are a few nights of your company…in my bedchamber. Considering the returns, is it really that high a price to pay?”

A few moments passed in silence. Henry could hear his heart beating against his ribcage. He swallowed. “An heir. That is all you want? One heir to sit on the thrones of both our nations.”

The Dauphin nodded. “An end to the enmity between the French and the English. A king, equal parts ours and yours. A new era, ’Enry. No more bloodshed and violence.” He stepped forward, his hand brushing gently against Henry’s cheek. “Peace. Prosperity. Brotherhood. The closest thing we can imagine to paradise on earth.”

“And?” Henry asked, forcing himself not to flinch away from the other man’s touch.

The Dauphin raised an eyebrow. “I do not understand you.”

“You have other conditions, do you not? Because if this was all you wanted, you could have made this proposition out there in front of all your men, as an honorable man in your position would.”

The Dauphin laughed. “Ah, a perceptive young man, are you not? Yes, yes. That I do. I do have my…wants and needs, as we all do. You understand, surely.”

Henry said nothing, but his eyes remained trained on the Dauphin.

“We will sire a child together, you and I. After the child is born, the marriage will mean little, and you will be free to do as you please.” He smirked. “But until you are with child, you will touch no other man. I will not see the French throne go to an English bastard,” he hissed, curling his fingers into Henry’s hair and pulling his head back, forcing him to look into his steely eyes. “You will submit to me, and me only, in any way I see fit. You will warm my bed, take my seed, and bear my child. And you will do it without question or protest. And if you fail…”

“Yes?” Henry prompted, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the pain, even as the Dauphin pulled more viciously at his hair.

“If you fail and annul the marriage before a child is born, both England and France will be mine.”

“And if it be you who demands an annulment?” Henry whispered.

“Then they shall be yours, by law, and with no blood having been spilled.”

Henry closed his eyes. For the fraction of a second, John’s face flickered behind his eyelids. This was not how he had envisioned this night ending. But how could he complain? He was still alive, as were his men. And they would stay that way, lest he was vain enough to throw it all away for his silly boyhood fantasies of love and companionship. Lest he was self-centered enough to become the one thing he had hated since he knew his own name – his father – a monarch who cared more for his own desires and preoccupations than the welfare of his subjects.

Had he not denied the old man a bit of warmth on his own deathbed, a petty punishment for all his numerous crimes against England? And for what? To become, within a few short years, exactly that which he had always despised? What would John say? Henry sighed, taking his eyes off the Dauphin. He knew very well what John would say if he knew Henry had sacrificed the lives of his countrymen to protect his own ego.

And Henry could take John’s hatred, but not his contempt, not his disappointment. If he couldn’t be the friend John had deserved, he would at least be the king he had dreamed of.

“I accept your offer.” Henry barely recognized his own voice. “I agree to the marriage, and to all conditions applied therein.”

The look on the Dauphin’s face was that of a starving wolf who’d just made the acquaintance of a rabbit. “Then so do I,” he said, smiling brightly. 

Henry heard the door to his bedchamber fly open. He stiffened, gesturing for the servant boy who’d been helping him get dressed to leave the room. The Dauphin had an unpredictable streak of jealousy, and the fewer people who got caught in the crossfire, the better.

By the time the last knot of his tunic was secure, his new husband had stepped through the curtains and was scrutinizing him from across the room. There was blood on his clothes, Henry noticed. He’d been hunting. And cleaning himself off before entering his consort’s rooms would have been too much of a courtesy for him to indulge in.

Of course, the fact that he’d been hunting also meant that he’d be running high on libido. Considering what had happened on their wedding night – and almost every night since – the fact that the Dauphin in some way equated sex with death and mutilation shouldn’t come as a surprise.

As his husband approached him, Henry sighed. He had not expected marriage to the Dauphin to be pleasant, but he _had_ expected it to be…painless. One month after the day of the royal wedding, Henry could have laughed at his own naiveté. He understood now why his men were so wary of him, something that had bewildered him back in Agincourt. It wasn’t just that the Dauphin didn’t mind causing pain, he reveled in it…took pleasure from the aborted cries of his lover. It was unlike anything Henry had ever experienced before.

He bit back a whimper as the Dauphin’s fingers crawled to the back of his neck. The bruises he’d left there last night were yet to heal. The pain of battle wounds and riding injuries, he could take. He was used to them. But this was new, someone pressing down intentionally on an unhealed wound, clawing at the scabs to peel the skin further back, draw fresh blood…

The stench of alcohol permeated his senses as the Dauphin’s lips pressed roughly down on his own. He clutched at the other man’s shirt to steady himself, berating himself all the while for being so weak, for being caught off-guard after all this time.

Then, his husband bit viciously down on his lip and all thoughts of self-flagellation fled his mind even as the taste of copper flooded his mouth.

Henry drew in a sharp breath and forced himself not to push the other man away and reach for a weapon, as every instinct screamed at him to do.

_You will submit to me, and me only, in any way I see fit._

The Dauphin’s words rang in his ears. But that was the deal he had made, the contract he had signed. Until a child was born, Henry would submit to his husband or lose his kingdom. And despite what John or his courtiers might think of Henry, he wasn’t vain enough to believe a few painless nights were worth throwing his subjects to the mercy of this French tyrant, who gloried in the suffering of others.

“Ah, little ‘Enry,” the Dauphin giggled into the crook of his neck. “What do you think of? Why are you so quiet? You cried so prettily for me last night, don’t you remember?”

Henry closed his eyes, forcing himself not to turn his head away as the Dauphin's tongue once again invaded his mouth, rough fingers prying his lips apart. Resistance was not an option. Not so long as he was still bound by the contract.

Sigismund of Luxembourg, Henry thought ruefully. If submit he must, he'd sooner submit to the Holy Roman Emperor than to the bloodthirsty fiend before him. He needed to send his men to Rome, and soon. A Roman intervention was now his only hope.

Because if he did conceive, he couldn't risk the Dauphin having power over that child. As a parent, his own father had left much to be desired. But his brutality had always been quick and efficient, a punishment that had to be administered for a crime real or imagined. But never something to be drawn out and reveled in...

He tried to maneuver them over to the bed. It would still hurt, Henry no longer harbored any delusions about that. But the soft mattress might take some of the pressure off, help him take the weight without adding to the cuts and bruises that now covered his back.

The Dauphin seemed to sense his intention and thrust Henry back against the hard, cold wall with sudden fury, as if to punish him for seeking a moment's relief. Pain shot through Henry's senses as his head hit the stone wall, his vision blackening momentarily.

“ _Please,_ ” the plea escaped his lips without his permission.

If anything, the involuntary supplication seemed to further excite his partner, who bit down at his shoulder hard enough to draw blood, like a wild animal marking his territory. Henry's vision blurred, his consciousness beginning to slip even as the Dauphin continued to leave bruises and lacerations along his torso.

As the other man's fingers reached below his waist, Henry braced himself for what was coming. He wondered if he should knock his head against the wall once again, rid himself of his consciousness for the night. He wondered if the Dauphin would be satisfied to fuck a comatose partner or if he would consider it a violation of their treaty.

Meaningless fantasies, either way. He couldn't risk it, he knew that. And so did his partner.

Henry bit down on his tongue, blinking back involuntary tears as his husband drove into him, his thrusts brutal and relentless. The wounds on his back scraped painfully against the stone wall even as the Dauphin's fingers dug bruisingly hard into the crook of his neck. He wondered deliriously if the man was suppressing the urge to strangle him. Perhaps, if he did, Henry would be within his rights to push him away, escape...

“And yet,” the Dauphin sneered, lifting his sweat-slick face to stare mockingly into Henry's eyes. “You refuse to relent. Noblesse oblige.” He laughed convulsively. “So brave; so self-sacrificing. And all for naught. You, little 'Enry, shall bear my child.” A few short, brutal thrusts that drove Henry back into the wall. “And the land you protect with your blood shall bear my name.”

“Yes,” Henry whispered, burying his face into the crook of his partner's neck, his words muffled against the Dauphin's glistening skin. “On a gilded tombstone it shall be borne.”

“Palace guards,” the hostess hissed, directing one of the older boys to show the newcomers to their seats near the back, as far away from the regulars as could be managed in this dingy little establishment.

Taking a swig of his drink, John sighed. A nagging hag she might have been, but her distrust of them wasn’t completely unfounded. When they were sober, the palace guards seldom paid their full tab; and when they were drunk, other customers often had to flee before paying theirs.

Not that it mattered to John, either way. Some of these men were bullies, but none of them were stupid enough to bother him. Even when he was blind drunk, his legend protected him as much as his sword. Shaking his head, John returned his attention to his mead.

“I’d not be surprised,” one of the guards slurred over his drink after a few minutes had passed in raucous camaraderie. “If ‘e were to drive a blade through the Dauphin’s neck. From what the chambermaids tell me…” he clicked his tongue.

“They says there’s blood on the sheets…every night,” one of the other guards nodded sagely, leaning back. “The laundress told me herself, she did. And the day after the Dauphin almost killed the cobbler’s son–”

“And he would’ve too, if not for his majesty getting there just in the nick of time,” another man spoke up.

“Well, the laundress told me she and her girls had to wash the sheets twice the next day to get all the blood off.”

Across the room, the hair on the back of John’s neck stood on end. What these men were saying…it _couldn’t_ be. John refused to believe it. He’d known Hal for years before he became king. And the Hal he knew was neither frail nor cowardly. If the Dauphin had treated him with anything less than the dignity his station commanded…

_I need you. I need someone I can trust in this nest of vipers._

Hal’s plea rang in John’s ears. Why had he agreed to marry the Dauphin? Could it be that John had been wrong all along? Could it be that something more than simple greed and expansionist ambitions had forced the King’s hand, compelled him to agree to the nuptials against his will?

“Well,” grunted the first guard, downing the last of his pint and thumping the table for more. “If the Romans have his head, that bastard’ll have deserved it.”

“And God willing, they’ll have it in Paris,” the third guard muttered. “He sets sail for France tomorrow, and England can do without another war.”

John stood, throwing a few coins onto the table even as his chair clattered to the floor. A few of the guards turned to see what was going on, and froze. Something in his expression made the color drain from their faces.

A lifetime ago, he would’ve laughed about it with Hal. And Hal would’ve winked at him, a private joke shared just by the two of them, before dragging him off to their lodgings for the night.

John Falstaff stormed out of the building, his vision blurring into a red haze.

Hal strode into the room, his shoulders back, head held high. John bit his lip to keep himself from flinching visibly.

Despite the many layers of royal finery adorning his person, it wasn’t hard to see that Hal had lost weight. He looked exhausted, shadows underlining his once-vibrant eyes. John forced himself not to step forward and place a comforting hand on Hal’s shoulder, as every instinct screamed at him to do.

“You told my guards that you come bearing news from Rome,” Henry said, coming to stand a few feet in front of John. “So speak.”

“Your Majesty,” John looked away. “There are...whispers on the streets of Paris and London, that the Dauphin might face excommunication on his return–”

“Rumors, all,” the king snapped. “And if that is all that you have come here to convey, Sir John, the local hearsay of Cheapside–”

“ _Hal,_ ” John reached out instinctively. Henry flinched, taking a step back, his once-clear eyes clouded with panic.

In John’s mind, something clicked into place. The sudden royal wedding, the lack of any communication from Hal since his return from France, the rumors and the hearsay, everything came together to form a single, horrifying picture.

Or maybe, this picture – the truth – had been there all along. And the only reason John hadn’t seen it was because he had refused to look. 

“That bastard,” he hissed, a red haze coloring his vision. “What has he done?”

“Nothing men have not done on their conjugal beds since time immemorial,” Henry cut him off. “Certainly nothing a retired soldier might need to concern himself with. Why _are_ you here, Sir John?” Exhaustion permeated his tone. “If this marriage does not meet with your approval, it is a disappointment I had no choice but to inflict on you. The future of my kingdom hung on the balance, and I couldn’t let the fear of your censure keep me from securing an alliance that will bring peace to both England and France.”

“Hal, please,” John found himself echoing the words Henry had said to him months ago, when he’d come to him asking for his help in the war. If only he’d said yes, if only he hadn’t turned Hal away that night… Still, it was no use crying over spilt milk. He couldn’t undo the mistakes of the past, but he could –

“Tell me what I can do.” He reached out, fingers shaking as they brushed tenderly against the younger mane’s face. There was a bruise blossoming on his right jaw. “Anything that I can do.”

Hal stilled, and John could see him fighting with himself not to shrink away from the touch. John’s heart clenched like somebody had driven a blunt knife through it. He stepped back, forcing both his hands behind his back.

_Ask me to kill him. Say it, Hal. I’ll drive a blade into his heart and hang for it, gladly._

Perhaps that was the only redemption to be had, for a tainted soul such as his. To free Hal of this marriage and of the burden of this friendship, all in one fell stroke. Perhaps his death was the only thing that could right the wrongs he had unknowingly committed. “Just say the word,” he said, his tone solemn. “And it will be done.”

For a few excruciating seconds, Hal stared into his eyes, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. John didn’t know what he saw in them, if he found what he was looking for, but at length, the king sighed. He stepped forward until his lips were inches from John’s ear. “Take the child away,” he breathed, his voice tremulous. “Away from the Dauphin, from this palace, this city, this nest of vipers. Protect it. If you ever thought me a friend, John, don’t let my unborn child bear the burden of mistakes I was too weak to mend.”

The gathered crowd jostled for space, cussing relentlessly in French even as they smothered and suffocated him. John pressed his way forward, straining to catch a glimpse of the royal couple. The Dauphin and his consort were to address the crowd in Paris before setting sail for England early tomorrow.

It had been more than six months since John had last laid eyes on Henry. But his eagerness to see the boy was tempered by an irrational fear. In what condition would he find Hal, when he did finally get to see him?

Eventually, the Dauphin stepped out into the balcony, greeted by the uproarious cries and applause of the gathered crowds. A moment later, Henry emerged from behind the heavy curtains.

John sucked in a sharp breath, his heart beating furiously against his ribs. Dressed in royal finery, a bejeweled crown resting upon his head, the veil drawn back, Hal – Henry – looked magnificent, every inch the monarch he was.

He walked slowly, his gait slightly unsteady. And by the time he came to stand beside his husband to greet the crowds, John understood why that was.

Henry was pregnant, heavily so.

John had known this, of course. It was one of the primary reasons why he had made this journey to Paris in the first place. The streets of Cheapside had been rife with rumors for months, now.

But hearing of it, knowing it, thinking about it every waking moment was not the same as seeing it with his own two eyes. Seeing his Hal place a gentle hand against his swollen abdomen, leaning ever so subtly against the iron railings for support. Seeing the expression of exhausted determination on his face and remembering what he'd said to John all those months ago, the only favor he'd ever asked of him.

_Don’t let my unborn child bear the burden of mistakes I was too weak to mend._

Weakness. John bit back the hysterical laughter that was threatening to spill out. Whose weakness was it that had landed them here today? Henry’s, who had sold himself to this murderous French prince to buy back the lives of his men? Or John’s, who had been too weak to aid him on the battlefield because he couldn’t face his own nightmares?

As the two monarchs waved to the crowd, the Dauphin’s rather tiresome speech having come to a close, John glimpsed out of the corner of an eye, two plain-looking men step away from the gathering and make their way to the back of the castle.

He frowned. Extricating himself from the gathered masses, he began following the two strangers, carefully maintaining enough distance so as not to seem suspicious.

They walked for many minutes, John in tow, until one of the men kicked away a heavy rock in his path and kept walking. Only, he was no longer walking forward. He was instead descending into the earth, followed moments later by his companion.

John gasped. _A tunnel. Of course._

Hal’s men? The Dauphin’s?

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, forcing himself to wait for the few minutes he needed to maintain his cover. Then, he jogged forward and followed the two men down into the damp darkness of the tunnel.

John emerged from the dank tunnel to find himself in a luxurious, fire-warmed bedchamber. He stepped forward and slipped, grabbing hold of the rough walls of the tunnel to keep himself from falling on his face.

Fresh blood… That’s what he had slipped on. He frowned, following the trail of crimson to find the decapitated body of one of the intruders a few feet away. The sharp clang of blades further inside the room made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Sucking in a sharp breath, John threw himself against a latticed wall close by, even as a sword flew out of someone’s hand and hit the wall behind him with a clang. John’s hand rested casually on his own sword, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

One of the intruders was fighting a uniformed guard inside the bedchamber, even as two more lay dead at his feet. The Dauphin stood behind the bed, a sword in his hand, his eyes wild.

Henry leaned against a bedpost, a hand resting on his belly while the other one held on to the bedpost for support. His eyes wandered the room, as if looking for an escape. A moment later, those tired, haunted eyes landed on John through the latticed wall, widening ever so slightly.

John bit his lip, his heart skipping a beat. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to rush into Hal’s arms right now; to protect him or die trying.

Henry blinked, then glanced over at the guard fighting the remaining intruder. A slight tilting of his head, and John knew what he had to do. His grip on his sword tightened, the hilt all but reverberating in his hand.

John stepped out from behind the wall, and Henry screamed. The Dauphin was on top of him, pushing Hal back into the wall. His captive struck out in self-defense, only for the Dauphin to rear back and kick him in the gut.

John’s blood froze in his veins. What happened next would remain in his memory more as a blurred sensation of rage and fear than a cohesive sequence of events.

He charged forward, driving his sword through the throat of a palace guard who tried to get in his way. Blinded by the spray of blood, he threw himself at the Dauphin, pulling him off Henry before he could respond.

Henry collapsed to the floor, blood seeping out from under his clothes. John reached for him, but the Dauphin drew his sword, blocking his way.

The fight that ensued was more instinct than strategy. But even blinded with rage and paralyzed by fear, the legend of General Falstaff had more truth to it than many in Cheapside realized. For a few minutes, the clang of metal clashing filled the room. Then, the Dauphin lay at John’s feet, having fallen face-first into a pool of his own blood.

Behind him, the intruder had slain his opponent. John turned to see him gaping at the still-twitching body of the French prince. He looked up at John, then back down at the Dauphin. Finally, he sheathed his sword and rushed back out through the tunnel, leaving a trail of bloody footsteps in his wake.

Fingers grabbed at his collar, and John could finally focus his attention on the man – the boy – thrashing in his arms.

“John–” Hal groaned, blood bubbling from his mouth.

John clutched him closer to his chest, watching helplessly as his own tears mixed with the blood on Hal’s cheek.

“John, please…” Hal whispered.

And this time, John knew exactly what his answer would be.

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward to bring his lips closer to Hal’s ear. “Yes, Hal…” carding his fingers gently through the sweat and blood-soaked hair, John forced his voice to stop shaking. “Your wish is my command.”

Henry’s trembling fingers grabbed at his collar and pulled him closer until their lips brushed together. “For old times’ sake,” he murmured through labored breaths, a tinge of humor in his voice as he wiped off the blood on John’s upper lip with his thumb. “Promise me…”

“Yes?” John whispered, his eyes blurry even as Henry was overcome by a violent fit of coughs, fresh blood flowing freely from his mouth.

“Promise me my child will live.”

John closed his eyes as Hal’s frail body trembled in his arms, rocked by violent coughs. “I promise,” he murmured, lifting Henry off the floor, into his arms. “He’ll live to wear the crown, to make your dreams a reality. I promise.”

And it was a promise he intended to keep. Or die trying.


End file.
